


The White Hare (unfinished)

by em_mv2020df



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, White hare - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_mv2020df/pseuds/em_mv2020df
Summary: Dean and Sam get ensnared in the curse of a woman and her tormentors
Kudos: 1





	The White Hare (unfinished)

Dean’s snores helped keep Sam awake. They had been driving for over most of the day, and it was Sam’s turn to drive. He watched as the clock hands slowly made their way to midnight – witching hour.  
He only blinked for what he thought was a second, so he never saw her step into the road.

“Shit!” he called out as he hit the brakes. The Impala’s tires screeched along the road, and he just knew Dean would never forgive him for ruining the tires, but he barely missed her. She didn’t even flinch as the bonnet stopped short of touching her legs, and she didn’t look up.

Sam sat there, waiting to see what she would do next. Was she a ghost? Or something else? She didn’t flicker like ghosts do, and she looked as if she were listening for something. Sam looked over to where Dean lay sleeping on the passenger seat – it didn’t look as if the quick stop had even disturbed his sleep. Typical, Sam thought.

He got out of the car to go and see if she was OK. As he walked over to her, she looked up at him, and he stopped, unsure if what he was seeing was even real.

He had never seen anyone like her before. She was tall, slender, and had long, dark hair that reached to her waist and pale skin. She was dressed in a loose, white t-shirt and tattered blue jeans. Her feet were bare, and that was when he noticed the cuts and marks on her arms. They were still bleeding, and her feet were also badly cut up.

“Er, you OK?” he lamely started. She didn’t reply; just stood there staring at him, and he found himself having to look away. He ran his hand through his hair nervously and asked, “Do you need help?”

She looked away then. “Help?” she asked, clearly confused. She sounded the word out slowly, as if she had never heard the word before. “Help. Who are you?” she asked him, turning back to him. Then the howls started, and Sam looked towards the fields that lay on either side of the road. When he looked back to her, her face clearly showed her terror.

“Are they after you?” She just nodded at his question. “Get in,” he said, pointing to the car. She continued to look at him, and the amazement on her face was as clear as the terror. He grabbed her arm, and repeated his command, “Get in,” whilst slowly pulling her towards the car. She seemed to understand then, and moved away from him.

He opened the back car door, and she literally fell into the car, lying curled up on the back seat. He could see the soles of her feet had been cut open, but he had no time to look at the various cuts.

He slammed the door shut, and the howls then got much louder, as if whatever it was had scented its prey. He didn’t recognise the howls, as they sounded almost human at times. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and without hanging around any longer got into the car, and drove away. He kept glancing in the rear view mirror, but saw nothing on the road behind him. She didn’t move an inch the whole time, and Dean didn’t wake up.

Sam spotted a motel with a vacancy sign a few hours later, and pulled in. As he got out of the car, he checked on her. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing deep, so he thought she was asleep. As if knowing his eyes were on her, she opened her eyes and turned to look at him. Sam swallowed, and quickly turned away.

He got a room as close to the car as possible, and picked up some extra towels on the way back to the car. He wasn’t surprised to see Dean still asleep in the car, and was also relieved. Would save a bit of explanation later.  
He grabbed his holdall from the trunk, then helped her out of the car, and picked her up when her feet proved too painful for her to walk on them. He wasn’t surprised to find her as light as a feather as he carried her into the room, and set her down on one of the beds. Sam didn’t bother to go back for Dean – he looked comfortable where he was, and Sam could go and wake him later. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the dirty looks and lewd comments of his older brother. Sometimes he could be an absolute jackass around women.

Opening his holdall, he grabbed the first aid kit and then stopped. How was he supposed to do this? He didn’t even know her name.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” he said, trying not to look at her. “Do you have a name?” he gently asked when she didn’t answer. “Right,” he continued, mostly to fill the silence that followed, “I’m going to take a look at those cuts, OK?” He looked up at her then, but thankfully she wasn’t looking at him. She nodded.

Picking up a towel, he started on her feet first. She flinched as he gently moved one her feet towards him as he knelt on the floor. He wanted to warn her the antiseptic might sting, but the words felt stupid and embarrassing, so he just soaked a part of the towel in the antiseptic, and slowly began to dab the towel on the cuts.

The cuts on the soles of her feet were mostly superficial and dirty. She still refused to talk, and Sam tried to get her to open up about what had happened, but it was if she couldn’t understand him. Her beauty kept stopping him each time he looked at her, so in the end he found it easier to just concentrate on each cut.

“OK, all done. Most of the cuts were only skin deep, so they’ll heal in no time,” he found himself saying. “Do you have family anywhere, or anyone you want me to call?”

“No,” she said, falteringly. He caught an accent, but couldn’t place it. “I am all alone,” she continued. “Where are we?”

“In a motel,” Sam replied, relieved she had finally spoken. Her words seem to have broken a spell. “You’re safe here.”

“I am not safe anywhere.” Sam had to strain to hear the words she barely whispered. Then he yawned, and felt embarrassed.

“Why don’t you try and get some sleep?” he suggested. “It’ll be morning soon, and my brother and I can take you wherever you want to go.”

She didn’t answer, just slowly laid back on the bed, curled up again, and closed her eyes.

Sam sat on an armchair, and watched her sleep.

“Way to go, moron,” Dean’s voice cut through Sam’s sleep, and Sam felt something land on his chest. He opened his eyes – Dean was standing above him. “Where the hell are we?"

“Morning,” was Sam’s answer as he rubbed his eyes. He looked to the bed. “Where’d she go?” he asked.

“Who?” Dean surveyed the room. “You had a girl here last night? Is that why you left me sleeping in the car?” Dean grinned at him. “Next time, just leave me a note, OK?”

Sam ignored him as he stood up. “It wasn’t like that,” he futilely explained, “she was hurt, in trouble.”

“And big bad Sammy came to her rescue. Why can’t I meet girls like that?” Dean mused, still grinning.

Sam looked wildly about him as Dean strode into the bathroom. Where had she gone? She had been right there, until he fell asleep stroking her hair. Panic coursed through him – he had to find her, right now!

He rushed to get up, adrenalin flooding his body, shoved his feet into his shoes then stormed out of the room. Dean looked back as he heard the door slam. He was about to jump in the shower, but not a single towel was clean (not too unusual for their choice of cheap motels) as nearly every one was covered in blood. What the hell had happened in here?

He followed Sam out of the room, running to grab him.

“Woah, Sammy!” he yelled, grabbing Sam’s arm.

“Let go of me!” Sam practically screamed back. “I have to find her, she’s in trouble, I know it!” Two people who were checking in turned to look in their direction. That’s all we need, Dean thought, an audience!

“Not without some clothes on first!” Dean dragged Sam back into the room. “Dude, you’re wandering around out there in the rain wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and your shoes.” He picked up a shirt from the floor and threw it at Sam. “We’ll go once you’ve got some more clothes on. I’d have a shower, but the towels are -”

“What? The towels are WHAT?” Sam demanded.

Dean was taken aback. What had gotten into him? “The towels are covered in bl-” But he didn’t get to finish as Sam roughly pushed past him and stormed into the bathroom.

“I knew she existed!” Sam yelled in triumph. “This is her blood!” He came out with a towel to proudly show Dean (like a dog with a new toy, Dean thought). “See? She was hurt, and this was the first motel I found to bring her to. She was being chased by something, but wouldn’t tell me what.” Dean watched, horrified, as Sam rubbed a bit of the towel affectionally to his face. “We have to find her,” Sam demanded.

Dean slapped him. This was going too far. “What the hell has gotten into you?” Now it was his turn to demand answers. Sam violently shook his head, surprise at the sudden slap all over his face.

“Wait, Dean?” he stared wildly at his brother. “What’s going on? I -” The surprised look disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Sam went to take a swing at Dean, who stepped out of the way. “Either help me, or get out of my way!” he roared. Sam dropped the towel, finished getting his shirt buttoned, then grabbed his jacket. Dean rushed to join him. Sam stalked to the car and got in, starting the engine. Dean managed to jump in before Sam drove away.

“OK, I’ll help!” he sputtered. “But first, tell me what’s going on?”

Sam grunted. “Like you care.”

“Just fill me in. What happened last night?”

“You were . . . asleep. I was driving. It was getting late, and I didn’t want to wake you,” as Sam talked, he started to sound like his normal self again. “I was struggling to stay awake when I almost hit her. But I’d missed her, thankfully. I went out to check on her . . . she was clearly hurt . . . her eyes were huge and so, luminous! She was so thin, and lost, and shaking,” Sam’s voice turned wistful, “and I just knew I had to help to help her! But . . .” he suddenly stopped, lost in thought.

“But what?” Dean prompted, turning to look at him. Oh, boy, he realised, staring at his face, he’s been bewitched or something. Sam’s face seemed rapturous as he remembered what happened.

“She smelt like a meadow,” he breathed, gripping the steering wheel hard. “Her hair was long and seemed to float around her. The moon . . . I could see the moon in her eyes.” He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful and so lost.” He looked up sharply at the road ahead. “Then I heard the dogs, calling for her blood. I bundled her into the car, got her to the motel and tended to her wounds.”

“And I guess she was extremely grateful and had to show you how grateful she was then and there?” Dean didn’t mean to smirk, but couldn’t stop himself. This wasn’t like Sam at all.

“No,” Sam replied, harshly. “She did nothing. I got the bleeding under control, then . . .” He shook his head again. “I guess I must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is you waking me up. And she was gone. So we have to find her!”

Dean fell silent. Whatever had happened last night, Sam was now under some sort of spell. So, did he pick up some witch being chased by the local townsfolk, and she bewitched his brother to get his protection? He looked around the car. Where would she hide a hex bag if she had been a witch? He would need to stop the car, but with Sam driving so aimlessly, how?

Sam braked, hard, suddenly. “She was here,” he said, certain.

“OK, how about you go see if you can find her. I’ll wait here, see what we’ll need to fight off any dogs?” Dean offered, not sure if Sam would believe him. He needn’t have worried; Sam climbed out of the car and stalked away, not bothering to look back or caring that he had left the keys in the ignition. Wow, she got him good, Dean thought, worried. He quickly clambered out, then started looking for evidence of anything to help Sam.

Sam was gone for hours. Dean sat on the hood of the car, looking in the direction Sam had headed in. After looking for a hex bag or anything, the only thing he’d found was a small piece of dirty fabric, which he would have guessed was white once. So, a woman in white? He wondered. The cellphone signal was pretty poor where he was, but he managed to do a bit of digging. And came up empty. No ghostly women in white had ever been found in the area.

So he decided to try and look for Sam. But it was as if Sam had just disappeared. His trail had continued for about a mile before hitting a small stream, then vanished. Dean could only suspect that Sam had walked upstream, and not knowing what direction he had headed in, Dean decided to get back to the car. Perhaps Sam would be there, waiting for him?

No sign of Sam at the car, either. Dean rang Sam’s phone; it went straight to voicemail. He left messages. Text him about a half a dozen times, nothing. Either the cellphone reception got worse the further Sam had gone, or he’d turned his phone off. Dean was stuck. Did he wait, or head back to the motel? His stomach growled furiously at him. Motel it was. Sam could call him if he needed a ride or got into trouble.

The motel was quiet. Not surprising, since it’s sign was barely visible from the road. Dean walked over to the check-in office. Maybe he could check out last night’s surveillance?

He rang the bell. Usual kind of person ambled out from the office behind the desk; unkempt, and covered in whatever he’d been eating.

“Yes?” he rudely demanded.

“FBI,” Dean flashed the fake badge quickly. That made the motel clerk stand up straight . . . er. “I’m looking for video from last night. Got a perp I’m chasing; think he would have stayed here for the night.”

The clerk just stared at Dean, incredulous. “Look,” he started, “I know we’re out of the way, but this isn’t that kind of ‘place’ . . .”

Dean interrupted him. “You’d be surprised. You’re out of the way, here. Perp knew this wouldn’t be the first place I’d check for him. I’ve been all over this town, looking at surveillance cameras. You’re my last stop. Why don’t you just let me take a look, see if I can spot him, OK? I’ll be out of your hair in five.”

The clerk swallowed. Then moved to unlock the office door. “Fine,” his voice trailed back. Dean walked into the office, which didn’t look much better than most of the motel. “Five minutes. Cameras are in there.” Clerk ambled off to leave Dean in peace.

Dean had to fight from knocking over the crap strewn everywhere. Could this place not hire any cleaning staff? Locating last night’s video, he rewound the video until he spotted his car pulling up. He started to play it. Sam pulled in, with Dean blissfully asleep in the passenger seat. Dean wondered why he was smirking in his sleep – he couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming. But could that be why he didn’t wake up at all?

Sam rushed around to grab someone from the back. But it looked like some kind of rabbit to Dean. A white rabbit? Then the video flickered, and Dean could see the image of a woman being rushed into the motel room by Sam, covered in dozens of bloody cuts. She looked frail, and terrified for her life. He leaned closer to the video screen. He could almost smell the meadow from the screen, see the shine of her long hair . . .

“Dude, you’ll get those square eyes everyone always warned me about, staring at the screen like that,” the clerk said, slamming the office door against the wall. Dean shook his head as he watched the woman slip out of the room a few minutes later. What the -?

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, rising from the chair. He moved groggily, like he’d had too many beers again.

“Did you find what you wanted or what?” the clerk demanded.

“Yes, I did. He stayed here last night, but left sometime this morning. Did you cleaning lady find anything odd today in any of the rooms?”

“No, nothing,” the clerk denied, way too practised. So this wasn’t the first time bloody towels had been found in a room here.

“Well, if you find anything, here’s my card,” Dean replied, handing the clerk his number. “And I’ll need a room for the night,” he continued. “I’ve got a lot of work to do here, and it’s a long journey back to my office.”

“Erm, sure!” the clerk stammered, grabbing a key for Dean. “Have a nice stay!”

Dean doubted it as he walked away, but it could be interesting. Hopefully he could get that shower now.

The phone rang.

“What?” a raspy voice demanded as it answered the phone.

“Hey, Bobby!” Dean replied, cheerily. “Got a question for ya.”

Bobby sighed. “When do you not? What do you need this time?”

“I think Sam has been bewitched by something. Not sure what, but he picked a girl up last night he nearly drove into . . .”

“Since when does Sam pick up hitchhikers?” Bobby demanded.

“I don’t think he had much choice. She was hurt, and I think she did something to him. He’s gone off somewhere, trying to find her.” Dean filled Bobby in.

When he had finished, Bobby was surprised. “You left that lumbering idiot alone? Dean, if he gets hurt . . .”

“I know, I know – I’ll go back out and find him. He’s around here somewhere. But any ideas on what he met?”

“A white rabbit? Like a magician’s rabbit?”

“No, bigger, much bigger,” Dean replied.

“Like a hare?” Bobby asked.

“A what?”

Bobby sighed. “I thought you boys also hunted game as well as monsters. How have you not hunted a hare? They’re bigger than rabbits, quicker, too. A white hare monster? That’s a new one. Let me see what I can find. You go and get that brother of yours. Tie him down if you have to.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean smartly said back. He hung up as he walked out of the motel room. “Time to find Sammy,” he muttered to himself.

Sam had been wondering for hours, following something invisible that kept tugging at him. He hadn’t stopped walking, and was now exhausted and footsore. And out of cellphone reception. His wet and cold feet had slowly brought him back to reality, and he had no clue where he was or how he’d gotten there. He stopped, and looked around for an indication of where he was, or where he was going. But he was in the middle of nowhere, fields stretched out on either side of him. Looking at his phone, he could see it was late afternoon. Thankfully it was summer, so he still had a few hours of daylight left. Now what was he doing out here?

He shook his head, dismayed. His blurry memories were of no help, but he vaguely recalled driving with Dean. So, was Dean somewhere out here?

“DEAN!” he yelled. He waited. “DEAN!” he tried again. Still nothing. So, did that mean they were both lost? Wouldn’t be the first time, he realised. He dropped to the ground to rest and figure out the way back.

Orienting himself, he figured north was to his left. So, he’d been heading east. What was out here that had caused him to walk so far? He had no idea how far he was from the motel . . . a sudden flash of memory came to mind, of a young woman’s dirty face, tears in her luminous eyes, and the mental tugging that he had to keep going came back . . . Dean! was his last conscious thought.

Darkness. Dripping water somewhere in the background. Smoke? Voices, male, came filtering through his consciousness.

“He’ll make a good meal, papa.”

A grunt in agreement. Shackles moved somewhere to his right, and a stifled whimper came from that direction. It sounded familiar. Groggily, he opened his eyes and raised his head in the direction of the sound. And she was there, shackled, still dirty and bleeding slightly, but she was there! He felt elation – he’d found her!

She must have felt his eyes on him, because she turned to face him. “You were not supposed to find me,” she said, her voice barely rising above a whisper. “I had hoped my curse would spare you, you who helped me, but . . .” She closed her eyes, tears running down her face. “I am truly sorry,” she whispered. Sam didn’t care. Had no idea what she was trying to tell him; he was just happy he’d found her, happy to bask in her beauty once more.

He managed to stand, barely, for the ceiling of wherever he was was shorter than he, so shoulders slumped, he moved towards her. And couldn’t. Looking down, he realised he was also shackled, with barely a foot of chain to the wall to allow movement. The sound of his shackles drew outside attention.

“Papa, he’s awake!” The first voice from earlier. Sam didn’t care; these shackles were keeping him from her! He roared out in anger, trying to find a way to rip the chain from the wall.

Something hit him, hard. Looking up, he realised he was in a small cave. In the middle, a small fire, and around it, about 10 men, all of various ages. They looked even dirtier than she did. They growled at him as he looked up, the growling not human. He heard more than saw her recoil from the sound, and turned toward her, still not comprehending what was going on around him.

“Please do not kill him!” she called out to them. “He was not to be a part of this hunt. I will not let you hurt him!”

As one, each man roughly laughed. And then it dawned on Sam what had happened. He had no idea how he had arrived here, or when, but he realised, with sinking dread the helped clear his head, that he was in a den of monsters. Who were all looking at him, hungrily. Oh, crap, he miserably realised.

Whatever strength had helped him stand, vanished, and he landed, hard, on the floor. That just caused the laughter to get louder. The girl stopped whimpering.

Right, think, how to get out of this, he scolded himself. This was a rookie mistake, the kind of mistake that killed hunters. And he had just walked into it. Dean would have a field day with this if he survived. He hadn’t even armed himself when he’d left, not even with a knife. And he always had a knife on him. Why had he been robbed of his reason? He turned to look to the woman to his right out of concern for her, as he couldn’t quite figure out her role in all of this. And he slowly felt himself losing his ability to focus or think . . . because she was here! No, dammit! He screamed at himself, shaking his head so violently, he left himself dizzy. What had she said to him? She was cursed? So now he was? Was she some kind of distraction for the assholes around the campfire, to help reel in their food? What were they? What was she?

So many questions, and no way to get answers. Unless the assholes around the fire were in a talking mood.

“Hey!” he started. “Who are you guys? How’d I get here?” Hopefully he sounded as helpless as he felt.

“Jean, answer the food.” The order came from the oldest of the group, and he had what sounded like a French accent. Odd.

The voiced he’d heard earlier started to explain, and he realised that ‘Jean’ was the youngest of the group. He looked no older than 12.

“She brought you,” Jean said, looking at the woman. “She is our object to hunt. To evade capture, she may ensnare another, force them to come to us in her place. Only this time, we have you both. Why, Lily? Why are you here? You came back, empty handed, and yet, he still followed your scent.”

Laughter erupted again from the men, but the boy did not join in. He studied Sam. “Why did you come?” he asked him.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t think I had much choice in it,” he replied to the boy. The boy nodded back an affirmative.

“Most don’t,” was his reply before turning back to gaze into the fire.

Sam waited, but the boy didn’t turn back, and no one else seemed to want to offer up any information. He turned to study his surrounds, mostly to keep his mind distracted from . . . HER. Lily. Even the name sounded musical . . . he groaned, dropping his head into his shackled hands. What had she done to him? Did she often do this to Samaritans? Dean, if Sam survived, would kill him for being so naïve.

Something in his pocket vibrated. His phone? Not daring to question its presence (or the fact it had a signal wherever he was), he quickly and quietly tried to get it from his pocket. He also slowly backed up from the men, hoping they were too busy to notice what he was doing. Cupping the phone in his hands to hide the light from the screen, he turned it on. 20 messages from Dean waited for him, along with a voicemail. His phone didn’t have much battery left. Maybe just enough to make a text or call, if he was quick.

Movement to his right; was she able to move towards him? He could feel himself slipping as he thought of her, so frantically tried to call Dean. Dean’s phone was ringing, but Sam’s mind was beginning to waver, as much as he tried to retain control. There was that smell, again, of meadows . . .

Dean’s phone ringing startled him awake in the car. The map he’d been staring at, trying futilely to figure out where Sam might have gone sat on the seat next him, covering the phone. He angrily brushed it away, grabbed his phone, saw it was Sam and answered.

“Sam, where the hell are you?” he started to demand.

“You left me all alone in the darkness,” was Sam’s faint reply.

Dean’s stomach turned. “Sam? What, where are you?” Sam’s phone disconnected. He immediately rang back, but it went straight to voicemail. “Dammit!” he yelled, hitting the steering wheel. His phone rang again. Without looking, he answered it, “SAM?!”

“No. Where is he, Dean?” Bobby’s concerned voice replied. Dean breathed heavily, in and out, trying to clear his mind.

“I don’t know,” he said, “He just called me, but sounded odd, then the call got cut off. I can’t reach him.” Silence. Dean closed his eyes, waiting for Bobby to speak. Nothing. “Bobby, are you still there?” he practically demanded.  
“Yeah, kid, I’m still here. Do you think Sam is in trouble?”

Dean really didn’t know how to answer that. But Sam had sounded, scared? No, that wasn’t it, like he didn’t have a clue what he was saying. What the hell was going on here? And why did Sam have to get caught up in it? He swallowed the bile down.

“No,” he said, voice barely wavering. “He might be stuck, but he’ll be fine. I’ll find him, then I’ll kill whatever has him.”

“Then I better tell you what I found.”

Bobby filled Dean in. The white hare was a legend from England. Little was known about it as it had never been found State-side before now, but the town Dean was in had become notorious for young men going missing every year. Just a man or two a year, no specific age group/racial profile, so it had never raised any suspicions; it was assumed by the cops that the guys had upped and gone, tired of living in a small town. No one ever saw them leave. Bodies never turned up, either, so whatever this white hare was, it left the bodies where no one could find them. Which didn’t help Dean at all.

“No idea how to kill this bitch?” Dean could hear more venom in his voice than he meant.

“Not a thing. I’m guessing you try the usual stuff, silver, salt, holy water, demon knife, see what sticks. The white hare myths are that she’s harmless, so its gotten twisted here somehow. I was looking at deaths of young women going back a couple of centuries, and only one could be behind this. Family from England moved out there way back when. Daughter was just a child when they arrived, but as she grew up, stories have it that she must have been so beautiful, she bewitched whoever she looked at. Had hundreds of suitors by the time she turned 16, but just wanted to stay and help her family.

“They weren’t doing so well, being poorer than church mice. The farm wasn’t doing as well as had been hoped, but according to one article, things were slowly turning around for them. Then their daughter was found one day, murdered. Probably raped. They never found who did it, but suspicions fell on a rival farming family from France, whose eldest son was smitten with her. The whole family died a few weeks’ later, total mystery. Daughter was called Lily. Stories don’t say where she was buried, but there’s only 3 graveyards in the town, so good hunting. Do you want a hand?”

“No, thanks,” Dean replied. “I got this. I find Sam first, then I deal with this Lily.”

“Good luck,” Bobby said, hanging up. Dean closed his eyes for a second, then clambered out of the car.

A few minutes’ later, and armed to the teeth with as much as he could possibly carry, Dean set out along the field he’d last seen Sam. Walked back to the stream, and walked a few feet in both directions looking for a trail. Almost didn’t see it, but those giant footprints of Sam’s were unmissable once spotted. Sam’s footprints barely wavered as Dean walked along, and Dean had to take a break every now and again. Something had driven Sam to go far and wide, but what? The girl? He thought back to the video. First a hare, then a woman . . . and why had she let Sam help her? He had mentioned hearing dogs, and assumed they were chasing her. The French family that mysteriously died?

He had barely noticed it was getting dark until he stumbled on a tree root. Getting his torch, he kept walking, following the footsteps of his idiot brother. He’d kill him once he found him.

“Get him up!” A voice in the darkness. Sam didn’t even stir as someone roughly stood him up. The chain was removed from the wall, and he was slowly dragged along.

“Take me with you!” Another voice called out. He gasped, hearing it – it sounded like music. It was her voice. “He’s still under the curse – take him too far away, and the curse will begin to wane.”

A chuckle. “We prefer them to not be senseless before we knock them senseless,” someone said. “Right, papa?”

“Right, Marc. Lily, you will stay here. Let’s go.” Murmurs of agreement followed, then Sam was dragged away.

“No, please!” Lily screamed. “He’s an innocent – he just tried to help me! Herne, I implore you, stop them!”

“Stupid bitch,” one of the men muttered. “Your fucking pagan god was what got us into this mess in the first place!” He spat.

“Quiet.” The father. “Rene, if you had kept your hands to yourself, we wouldn’t be stuck living like this.”

“I told you, father, she’s a witch . . .” A slap. “Ow!”

“Quiet! I do not care about your opinions.”

Sam stirred, groaning. It was like trying to come up from under the water – his head was fuzzy and his feet were still throbbing.

Snide chuckling began among the group, then what sounded like excited yelps. Sam was roughly thrown to the ground, the air knocked out of his lungs. He lay under an open sky, fresh air waking him as he gasped it back in.  
Someone unlocked and removed the shackles, then annoyingly kicked a shin. Then his ribs, when they decided he wasn’t moving quickly enough. He groaned in response and tried to crawl into the foetal position, believing the end was coming anyway. He wasn’t in any condition to fight back.

“Stand up. Now.” The father’s voice. Sam struggled getting to his feet. “Boys, help him up.” Hands roughly yanked his arms up, dragging his body along. He managed to not groan in complaint. A flask was thrust into his hand. “Drink. We need you to keep some of your strength.” A chuckle, quickly silenced.

Sam drank what was in the flask. It was some kind of broth that was both disgusting and hot, but his stomach didn’t complain straight away; he realised he hadn’t eaten in a long time. And there was also a touch of something else, brandy? Didn’t matter, but it warmed him, gave him back some of the strength he’d lost, whilst helping clear his head. He finished the flask in a matter of minutes.

“Good. Now, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to start running. The boys will chase you, and bring you down.” Sam looked blearily at the man he assumed was the groups’ father. Around him, were restless dogs, looking wild and ready to chase him at a moment’s notice. He didn’t like where this was going. “You are our sacrifice for the pagan gods of old. To try and break this stupid curse that stupid witch put us under centuries ago. Your innocent blood should please the gods more so than the bastards we normally chase down.” He smirked. “You get five minutes head start. Better get going.”

“No, wait, isn’t there another way,” Sam tried to ask, flustered.

This elicited another chuckle. “They always ask that,” the father said. “This is the best way, for everyone. You could even find a way to escape. But your time is running out, so get moving!” He roughly shoved Sam to get him moving. Reluctantly, he started walking, gathering his strength, then began to run as adrenaline and fear took control.

Sam didn’t know how long had passed, but he assumed his five minutes were up when he heard the calls of the dogs somewhere behind him. It caused a sudden spike in his adrenaline, and he moved quicker. Could he escape? If he had a gun, or something, maybe. But he had nothing to protect himself, and running through the dark meant anything that could be turned into a weapon couldn’t be seen.

What if he found Dean? Could he find Dean? He didn’t even know where he was! And those growls were getting closer.

Splash! A stream? The cold water soaked through his boots and jeans, making it harder to run. But if they were dogs, even supernatural ones, could the river hide his scent from them? He headed downstream, as quietly and as quickly as he could, willing to take that chance. He needed to increase the distance between himself and the dogs.

Somewhere off in the distance, Dean heard something enter the stream, followed by the sound of dogs. Sam? He desperately wanted to call out to his brother, but he had no way of knowing it was him. And he’d just reached a cave entrance, the light from his torch getting lost in the darkness inside. He’d check the cave first, just in case, then start to head back, see if he could find what was going on.

He entered the cave. It was fairly tall at the entrance, but the ceiling got lower the further and further he went so he ended up doubled over. There was hardly any way to tell if anyone or monster had been using this to live in – it was totally devoid of debris and litter. Then he started smelling smoke. Faint, at first, but he pressed on. The ceiling slowly raised upwards the further he walked so he could walk upright again. And that smoke smell was getting stronger.

The cave passage widened into a cavern ahead of him, and the remains of a fire could be seen. Lanterns were scattered everywhere, but not lit, so darkness prevailed. He could only see as far as his torch would let him, but now he found evidence that something had been living here. Bunks against a wall, sleeping bags, clothes, old food. He didn’t see any bodies, so they were clearly dumped elsewhere. Then the beam of the torch showed him Lily, cowering against the wall. He nearly lunged for her, before he realised she was shackled in place. And so, beautiful . . . he slapped himself, hard.

“I am sorry, I didn’t want this curse,” she said, softly, voice like music . . . he slapped himself again and shook his head.

“Is there anyway to turn that off?” he asked, pensively.

She nodded, no.

“So, I don’t look at you. Don’t speak. Do you know where the others went?” She pointed back the way he had come. “Great. That probably was Sam. Can you help me find him?” Nodded, yes. “OK, let’s get these off you.” Pulling out his lockpicking tools, he quickly released the shackles. Lily shakily rose to her feet. Dean led the way back out of the cave, rushing as quickly as he dared, Lily close on his heels.

Outside, the braying of the dogs was further away.

“Which way?” he demanded. Lily closed her eyes, then pointed ahead, and rushed off. Dean hurriedly followed behind. She seemed able to see without the light of the torch, as she often ran on further than the light could go. He always tried to keep her in eyesight, but found himself panting more and more as the effort to keep up with her grew more taxing.

The braying and barking of the dogs were growing louder; it seemed as though the dogs were only up ahead. And just as he began to worry that they’d meet the dogs before they found Sam, she veered sharply to her left. Dean out his head down and focused on running faster. And nearly ran into her when she suddenly stopped.

Grateful she had stopped, he sucked in as much air as he could to his winded lungs. It hurt to breath, but as he breathed in and out, he realised the dogs were a little further away, somewhere behind them. He risked looking over at her; she stood still, eyes closed, and seemed to be listening to something. He looked away, focused on the ground beneath him. Then on the sounds around him. He could hear water off in the distance, but not a lot else.

Then she sprinted forward. It was so sudden, Dean nearly tripped over his own tired feet to keep up. This time, though, she stayed within the torch light just ahead of Dean, and wasn’t running as fast, so Dean was able to keep up with ease.

They crossed the stream, then followed it for a while. There was a dense group of trees ahead, and here she slowed. Dean walked up to her, a question on his face. Lily pointed ahead of her, and indicated Dean should go on ahead. He slowly walked towards the trees, listening for the dogs and for Sam.

“Sam!” he harshly whispered as he got closer. No reply. “Sammy!” he tried again.

“Dean?” came a confused reply. Dean shone his torch in the direction of the voice, and spotted Sam huddled against a tree. He jogged over.

“Hey, what the fuck have you been playing at?” Dean demanded. Sam just whimpered in reply. “What the actual fuck? What’s wrong -”

Sam cut him off. “She’s out there, isn’t she? I can feel her. I’m trying so hard to keep her out, but it’s not working!”

“Look at me, Sam.” Sam didn’t move his head, so Dean roughly grabbed his chin and lifted his head up so his eyes were locked on Dean’s. “Just look at me. Focus!” For a second, Sam’s eyes did focus on him, but they just as quickly glazed over, eyes looking over Dean’s shoulder. Then he heard her footsteps. Dammit, he did not need an addled brother right now!

He turned to look at her, focusing on something to her right. “Can you do something to help him?” he demanded.

“I’m, not sure. But I’ll try.” Dean clenched his teeth as she spoke; even a whisper was too much. He moved away from Sam, put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes. The smell of meadows came to him, and he roughly tried to think of something, ANYTHING else.

She crouched down in front of Sam, who couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“You’re here,” he said, sounding disorientated.

“Hush. Let’s get you out of here,” she quietened him. Putting her fingers on his temples, she quietly prayed. “Herne, Lord of the Hunt. I ask, no, I demand, you release this man from your hunt. He has a good heart, and tried to help when I needed it. He does not deserve this fate, so release him from my curse and allow him to live.”

Although Dean’s eyes were shut, something brightened beside him so much, his eyelids became translucent. He shut his eyes harder to block out the light. When it had faded, he opened his eyes.

Sam hadn’t moved, but as he opened his eyes, furiously blinking the afterimage out of them, he looked around. “Dean?” he asked. “What are you doing here? Where is here?”

“No time, buddy, get up, we gotta move.” The dogs began howling; they had found their scent.

Sam moved quickly, then winced.

“What?” Dean demanded, seeing pain on his brother’s face.

Sam tried to walk, but had to limp on one leg. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

“Great.” Dean grabbed an arm, lifting it over his shoulders. “We gotta go, now!” Lily started off ahead, Dean marching with Sam behind her.

Sam looked back wildly, still confused as to what had happened. “Was I bewitched?” he whispered to Dean, looking at Lily.

“Dude, don’t look at her. And something like that,” Dean harshly replied. “She helped me find you, though, and she hasn’t led us straight to those dogs yet.”

“I think they’re people,” Sam said. “When I was with them, they sounded French, and treated her like she was their bait to lure people to them. I wonder what happened to them?”

Dean mused. “Wait, did you say the dogs were French?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, why?” Then stifled a groan of pain as he landed harshly on his sprained ankle.

“Bobby gave me some history on Lily. And even she says she’s cursed; maybe they all are?”

Both fell silent as they walked along, lost in thought, trying to keep up with Lily. The dogs howled again, this time, closer. The dogs had caught up.

“Hurry!” Lily called to them. Dean grimaced – Sam was heavy, and they were going as fast as they could. Lily rushed back, and put Sam’s other arm over her shoulders. They all sped up.

The car was almost in sight, but suddenly Sam stopped helping and went limp, nearly dragging both Dean and Lily down.

Dean staggered back up, helping carry Sam.

“Sam?” he shook him, but Sam was out. “Oh, brother,” he muttered. “Is this your damned curse?”

Lily looked at Sam intently. “No,” she replied. “This is something else. I think this was their doing.”

“Help me get him into the car – I’ll deal with him back at the motel.”

They continued, half-dragging, half-carrying Sam. Thankfully they didn’t have much further to go, and Dean bundled Sam into the back. He heard Sam’s head hit something as he dumped him in, but he had to get going. He’d worry about that later.

“I have one more idea,” Lily murmured. Either Dean had become immune to the curse, or worry for Sam was keeping him clearheaded, but he didn’t hear music in her voice. She leant over Sam, whispering something. Then stroked his hair as she kissed his forehead. Then she stood and looked at Dean, who gave her a puzzled look.

“Herne can sometimes heal. I am not sure if your brother has been poisoned, but I asked Herne to continue to look over him. For me. Herne demands a sacrifice to keep me safe every year, and this year I have failed. I try to only go for those who have hate and distrust in their hearts, but sometimes, people like your brother end up getting chosen instead.”

“To keep you safe? Safe from what?”

“Them.” The dogs howled somewhere in the distance. “If they catch me, they will torture me for the rest of the year, like they did when they first killed me. I cursed them as I died, for where I lived, I grew up with tales of our original gods. I pleaded for my life, but they just laughed. So I demanded a curse to be placed on them with my dying breath. I did not expect myself to be cursed along with them, but that is my punishment for letting them catch me.” She hung her head, her hair covering her face.

Dean felt a pang of regret. He had no idea how to help her. And he didn’t have enough backup to fight those dogs.

“Get in,” he said to her, opening the passenger door. “I’ll get you as far away as I can tonight, and I’ll figure out a way to end this curse.”

She hesitated, but the howling was coming closer, so she climbed in. And Dean realised that wasn’t a great idea when the smell of meadows washed over him as he climbed into the drive away. As he started the car, he slapped himself, hard, several times, then found a small flask containing water. The cold of it as he splashed it into his face helped, a little. Hopefully he could get all of them somewhere safe in time.

He sped off as quickly as he could and drove away.

At first, he was fine, but as he drove along, he felt as if he were sinking into syrup. And the syrup was threatening to drown him. He had to stop.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to her, “but if I’m going to save myself and Sammy, you need to get out. Your curse is back on.”

She nodded, sadly. Opened the door and stepped out of the car. She didn’t look back as she walked into the night, but Dean could have sworn she turned into a hare as he watched her walk away. The night was silent, thankfully. Either he’d put more distance between them and the dogs than he realised, or they were just distracted for a moment.

His head slowly began to clear, and he took off again, back to the motel.

There, he dragged Sam as quickly as possible into the room, dumping him unceremoniously on his bed. Not knowing if it would work, but having little else, he poured rock salt underneath the door and windows. Then fell onto his own bed and let exhaustion take him.

It felt like he had only closed his eyes for a minute before he felt Sam shaking him awake. As he opened his eyes, sunlight poured into the room.

“Dean, wake up!” Sam yelled.

Dean looked at his brother. “Fuck off,” he growled, then turned over to go back to sleep.

“Dean, its three in the afternoon – we’ve slept the day away!”

So the dogs didn’t come after them, although he had dreamed of a white hare, being chased by dogs, running up and down fields trying to take them further and further away. He slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Dean, where are we?” Sam asked him.

He yawned. He was still exhausted. “You don’t remember?”

“No. Not a thing. How did I hurt my ankle?”

“Long story. Let’s get breakfast first.” He headed into the bathroom, splashed some water on his face, shoved his feet into his boots, then headed out. Sam limped after him.

“Need some new shoes,” he heard Sam mutter.

“Oh? Why?” Dean inquired.

“These are soaked through. What the hell was going on?”

Dean chuckled. “Not quite sure myself.”

They headed to the nearest diner, ordering as much food as they could. They were both starving, and Dean was pleased that whatever had knocked Sam out hadn’t done him much harm. As they ate, Dean told him as much as he could in between bites of food.

Sam looked incredulous when Dean had finished. “Seriously?” he asked. “I got bewitched by some white hare woman?”

“Hey, no word of a lie. What do you think happened?”

Sam nodded his head. “I’ve had flashes of bits of memory as you talked, but they haven’t helped at all. I honestly never thought I could be bewitched like that.”

Dean chuckled. “It’s happened before. Its that soft heart of yours. Always getting you in to trouble.” 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sam watched Dean finish his food. It was amazing how much his brother could put away by just shovelling it into his mouth. It could also put you off your appetite if you watched for too long.

Sam’s head whipped around to look out the window. There was someone standing there; a young woman in a dirty, white dress and long hair. Then he blinked again, and a white hare was in her place, hopping away.  
“Sam? Sam!” Dean clicked his fingers under Sam’s nose. He had some idea as to what his brother had just seen, but had to make sure the curse wasn’t affecting him again.

“Wha-?” Sam turned back, narrowed his eyes at Dean, and slapped the snapping fingers away. “What?” he demanded of Dean. Dean just smiled.

To be continued


End file.
